


Exercises in Intimacy

by sunlitwitch



Category: Ebon Light (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, No Beta We Die Like Chandler, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlitwitch/pseuds/sunlitwitch
Summary: A series of explicit one-shots for each of the love interests—and more.
Relationships: Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Duliae Laushust, Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Ernol Milirose, Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Haron Milirose, Alenca Goffil | Main Character/Vadeyn Milirose, Alenca Goffil｜Main Character/Axsix Milirose, Alenca Goffil｜Main Character/Cuthintal, Laceaga Darhal/Alenca Goffil | Main Character
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One:** Ernol

The velvet night was pendulous with humidity and the heady song of cicadas as they arrived on the doorstep. Layla fished the heavy brass key from her pocket, the long shadow of her lover draped like a cloak over the front door. It’d been a long day training and fraternising with co-workers; every so often, the Forces would organise an event for the officers—mostly a front for the enormous dick-measuring contests that were necessary to the Gha’alian ego. And truly, it wasn’t a party without a challenge being issued or a fight breaking out near the end—the likes of which was spectacle more than enough for one evening, if she were being honest. 

As they entered, Ernol paused near the front to light a lamp as Layla tossed her cloak onto the divan. Their home was modest; a boon to being Alluvion. There were a few recliners, lamps, bookshelves and some trophies from her adventures with Calipoa, but her truest conceit was the warm, sable blanket draped over the seat at the center of the room.

She had plans for it, tonight.

The moment Ernol turned to face her, Layla stalked toward him like a predator. Her lidded gaze was unmistakeable; his dark eyes widened in recognition, lips parting mildly as he felt his back against the wood.

Slowly, wordlessly, she pulled the string of his cloak and it dropped, pooling on the floor.

“You—“ he began, words shifting to a unintelligible groan as her fingers traced the shell of his ear. Of course, being significantly smaller it took her leaning up onto the balls of her feet to lavish kisses at the crook of his neck, until her teeth found purchase at the chilly flesh beneath his collar.

With catlike grace his hands slipped under her thighs and lifted, pivoting to replace her against the door where he’d been. His ink-dark eyes were blazing, lost in the sudden onslaught. Something in her coy expression caused his lids to flutter. As she braced her hips into his he audibly groaned.

“I’m _hungry,_ ” she whispered, using her body as punctuation. She could feel his length twitch against her inner thigh.

“You..” he rasped again, this time half-coherent as she began running her hands through his hair, claiming his bottom lip with her teeth. His hands roamed her body as he braced her with his hips, kneading the flesh of her thighs. “Let me taste you, mysaora’a,” Layla pleaded against his lips and he crumbled, whatever reservations he might’ve had against her sudden assault abandoned for the night.

He nearly tossed her onto the divan and she responded with a chuckle as her body hit the cushions. The two of them kissed and shed their clothing, fumbling with buckles and laces until Layla could take no more and her hands shoved his pants down roughly, allowing his cock to spring free. The hiss of breath that escaped him was delicious. She paused to admire the graceful arch of his arms and shoulders, the chiselled muscle of his abdomen and the sensuous line that separated the flat plane of his torso to what waited beneath, until her eyes fell hungrily upon his cock and she yanked him forward by the hips.

He staggered forward, white-knuckling the arm of the divan behind her. He was already dewing with excitement. With a few experimental pumps of her hands she coated him in his own slick, before pulling him close enough that she could begin to run her mouth over his length. With every touch, his body shuddered; the flat of her tongue painting experimental strokes over the head of his cock, around the ridged tip, tracing the expanse of the veins that adorned the underside.

“Mercy,” he said, half a plea and half an apology as a hand gripped the back of her cornsilk hair, urging her forward. Layla smiled against his flesh, gazing up into his eyes as she took his length inside.

The taste of him was distinct; salt and skin and the fragrance of his clothes, tinged with his own excitement. She ran her tongue along his skin as she rocked in time with his hips, relishing every second as he lost control. In these moments, Ernol was more animal than man; at each licentious sound he groaned, each twist of her lips around him he cursed; a tumble of linguistic novelties from parted lips. Occasionally he would crack his eyes open long enough to see her devouring him and would throb against her tongue, forcing him to cast his gaze to the distance or else be undone.

By now, she knew all his sounds. Knew the look he’d give, the feeling of his cock as he neared his finish and she knew he was close. Then, in a flash he drew away, leaving her well-used lips with a “pop.” She found herself suddenly flipped onto her stomach and softly shifted up onto her chest. Her hips squirmed as he peeled the fabric of her pants down to her knees. Ernol hissed; after all, she wasn’t wearing anything under them.

“Layla,” he began, the timbre of his voice dark. She smiled, face-first against the divan. All those hours she spent working, training and laughing (or else, pretending to laugh) with the officers, she had been otherwise unclad beneath that precariously thin layer of black. 

His teeth closed around the supple flesh of her ass and she keened. He laved his tongue over her skin, biting and kissing his way toward her core. Two fingers traced her entrance, pausing to tease her clit and she gasped, rocking back into his hands. She could feel the excitement between her legs, causing her thighs to stick together. Then all at once, a digit slipped in all the way to the knuckle and she cried, eliciting a groan from him in turn.

“Bewan’na,” she thought she heard as he dove into her again and again, angling his wrist to rub circles onto her clit. She was writhing, battering her hips against his hands, pleading when—

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._

The two of them were unmoving, their frenzied cries piteously dying away into nothing. “Ignore it,” she started to say when again—

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._

“Hey, Layla!” The voice came, vibrating through the heavy wood. “Is Ernol in there?”

It was Haron. Because _of course it was._

The two of them disentangled, Layla throwing on the nearest article of clothing. It ended up being Ernol’s shirt. She paused just long enough for him to yank up his pants before ripping open the door, finding a surprised and admittedly, nervous Haron dithering outside.

“Ah, you’re looking well madr—“ he began, just as his brain caught up to his sight. Layla stood with her hair mussed and half in a tangle, lips red and skin flushed, fingers gripping the wood with frightening force. Behind her was Ernol with an expression that could only be described as “ripshit.”

He coughed, averting his eyes (for a number of reasons, self-preservation among them). “I’ll be quick: there’s a bit of a situation at home and we need you. Both of you.”

“Tell our Father he can—“ Ernol began, before Haron barrelled on through. “Mother, actually,” Haron supplied.

“What’s going on?” Layla asked, the moving quickly between annoyed and alarmed. “It’s, well... We were having a bit of an after-party and there was... or well, there is an incident.”

“It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before, right?” She said, glancing over at Ernol whose face was now awash with conflict. After a tense moment, he finally said: “It depends.”

“As much as I’d love to chat, it’s urgent.” Haron seemed to be communicating something with his eyes. “You’ll see when you get there. Mother has been locked into her bedroom, but uh, they were trying to break down the door. Father is keeping her inside.”

“I would be more worried for him than for her,” Layla quipped, gesturing for Haron to wait as the two of them got redressed. From outside the door Haron called: 

“Yes. That is more or less the problem.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Thus, one long night grew even longer. The problem was about as bad, if not worse, than they’d feared. A curious partygoer had slipped away into Sochak’s run of the estate, whereupon she’d... elected to have a late-night snack. It seemed to have a domino effect; the trading partners whom he’d come with became intent on looking for him, forced their way into the lounge area then drenched in blood and viscera and it was all Lonre had to keep a defensive Sochak from tearing them apart. She was injured and furious, the men were both a liability to Lonre and a danger to his health and Haron was only one man.

In the end, Layla and Ernol managed to “escort” the incensed traders back to their boat, which unsurprisingly caught fire. Naturally, this would lead to their needing to file about half a dozen incident reports. There wasn’t a single place on Caleare safe from bureaucracy—even Gha’alia, it seemed.

By the time they finally arrived back at home, the sun began to carve its way up through the sanguine dark.

“Fuck’s sake,” Layla sighed from the bath adjoining their bedroom. “Please tell me this doesn’t happen a lot.”

Ernol, a veritable corpse on the bed lolled his head in her direction. “Define a lot.”

“Nevermind,” she muttered, sloughing tracings of blood and ash from her skin. “But Lonre is going to have to invest in a live-in guard. He can’t expect his family to do it.”

“We tried that.” Ernol said, spite creeping into his voice. “You can imagine the result.”

“Yeah,” she echoed, scarcely managing to repress her less-than-charitable thoughts.

Eventually she found her way out of the bath and into a towel, drying herself just enough to collapse into bed. It was fortunate that most of the Forces were expected to be hungover, granting them a rare opportunity to sleep in. By then, her body was entirely too battered from twenty four hours of suffering to find the will to resume their fun. Her mind, on the other hand...

Now warm and slightly damp, she curled up next to him and whispered: “let me take care of you, jania.” Ernol’s eyes drifted toward her incredulously. 

With a soft chuckle, she rolled on top of him. His arms wound absently around her as she wiggled her way up to press two gentle kisses on his eyelids, before parting her thighs to straddle him.

“We both need this,” she breathed into his ear, biting the lobe experimentally and earning a shiver. “Layla,” he replied, voice thicker now with emotion. She rocked back onto her hips now upright and began languidly grinding against him, a hand slipping beneath the waistband of her smalls as she began to massage herself.

He moaned, tipping his head back into the pillow and his hips followed her course. Their bodies ground and pressed together between the thin layers of fabric until she could feel him swelling again, throbbing with an unspoken need.

“Sit up for me, jania.” She said quietly. As he propped himself up on his elbows she shifted, allowing him to sit in earnest. His back rested against the headboard, supporting his weight.

Without any words the two of them gently disrobed one another, this time borne out of both tenderness and exhaustion, until they were unclad for one another in the hazy light of dawn. Layla tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear and he sighed, cradling her face in his hands.

“I love you,” she mouthed, crawling onto his lap. His eyes glazed and he swallowed thickly, mouthing it back into the skin of her nape as she positioned herself over his length.

She teased him at her entrance, dragging him through the heat of her fresh arousal, back and forth. With each pass he twitched in her grasp until they were both moist and aching, moaning for one another. Then torturously slow she hovered before sinking down onto him inch by delicious inch.

The feeling of being filled by him was unspeakably erotic. It was the throbbing blood at their center, the wild drumbeat of their hearts, the tight heat of her clenching around him involuntarily. His lips parted, allowing a flood of expletives to boil up from the mire of his throat. “Fuck,” she said, thrusting once experimentally and seeing stars.

With a bruising grip on her hips, he lifted her slightly to slap up into her core. Layla cried out, arching her back, hands lost in his hair. Her walls clenched around him, causing a feedback loop of pleasure as he moaned. Each thrust caused their damp skin to cling and the lewd sounds had her bucking desperately, gripping his hair with force and mouthing his name.

His mouth closed around her nipple, tongue dancing around it as he caught it in his teeth. “Ernol, fuck!” She shouted, caring little for soldiers or dockhands or whoever might’ve heard. She rose and fell to his rhythm, kissing his brow, the top of his hair, clawing at whatever she got her hands on.

No matter how gentle the beginning, they always seemed to find a passionate end. Now driven by need alone, he pulled out and deposited her on her back, pulling one leg over his shoulder while the other rested on the bed. Half-fucked already, she ran her hands over her body with a debauched expression before circling her clit.

Ernol hissed, angling himself from the right before plunging into her again. Layla groaned, gaze lolling. His eyes were dark pools of instinct, flickering from where their bodies joined to the her hands, to her face, now twisted with pleasure. His jaw clenched, brow slung low. She was splayed vulnerably in front of him, kneading and touching herself—Layla knew it was driving him mad. As it was, each pass of her own fingers in tandem with his pulling that sweet spot inside her had her panting, moaning, chasing her own release.

“Fuck, I’m going to come...” she grimaced, feeling the sensation uncoil within. She chanted his name like an oath, imagining the feeling of her honey spilling around his cock, of his filling her with his aching seed and suddenly the cord was taut and she fell apart.

Her walls tensed and fluttered as she continued to rub her aching clit, slamming her hips in concert against him. Her climax was narcotic and she rode it out breathless and gasping, eking out every bit of pleasure she could. Ernol couldn’t handle it—he cursed loudly, tipping his head back as the licentious sensation of her orgasm rippled through him.

“Layla, I’m—“ he began and suddenly she was whimpering like an animal, chanting: “come in me, come in me Ernol, fuck.... _please,_ ” and he cried out, firing into her again and again as he climaxed, groaning, painting her walls with his seed.

For a moment they remained joined, panting. She felt him soften and slowly but surely, slide away to release her battered hip. The bone was aching and raw, a welter of colourful bruises raised on her sides from where earlier he’d gripped her. Layla sighed, peacefully. The cocktail of pain and pleasure—joy and exhaustion—was bliss.

After a few moments, she clambered up to where he laid boneless against the pillow. “I love you,” she whispered, kissing the tip of his nose. He smiled and that smile, so rarefied, took her breath away.

“I love you too,” he sighed, “more perhaps.” His arms entangled her possessively, crushing her against his chest. “You are my undoing,” he murmured, as was often said.

“Sometimes, you need to be undone.” She breathed, nuzzling into his neck. And he laughed, a sound perhaps more beautiful than the newly risen dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew this really took it out of me. If you want me to consider making a twitter for fanfic updates please let me know!
> 
> I really don’t know what it is that amuses me so much about Ernol constantly being interrupted during sex but it’s super fucking funny to me.


	2. Exercises in Bathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this one, Laceaga and Lena decided to completely ruin Duliae’s otherwise triumphant evening.

**Chapter Two:** Laceaga

Two feet outside the tomb at last. Lena stretched up toward a sky swollen with rain and exhaled as the first streamers of water slid down her cheeks. The current of open air, the desolate squalls of birds and the sound of marching as it vibrated through the pads of her feet—all of it thrilled her. Even despite the thin and tattered nightdress she’d worn in the dakena’tha and the ache in her leg, freedom was at last within reach.

“Let’s go, rabbit,” Lacey said, her usual epithet spoken softer. Lena did not turn just yet. “Hold on,” was all she said.

So often she felt she despised them. Countless times she’d felt the rage boil in her stomach as she considered her revenge. Yet slow as the molten earth’s turning, anger and hatred shifted as the bed of Gha’alian iron forged her into shape. She understood at last the laws of power. She was not prey, but the mouth that bloodied and ate it. Not the flesh but the sword that carved it to bone.

And as fate had it, Laceaga was an enemy no longer, but something closer. Something that stirred the heat in her blood. Together they were weapons they only served themselves. Thought whirled at the heated kiss they shared in the shadow of that prison. The path sundered open ahead.

Lena bit her lip. It was time to go.

With a nod, she pulled the offered cloak around her shoulders. Laced hand in hand, the two made their way through the crowds and the chaos of soldiers that still strove to surge the uprising through veins of the city.

As the sound of metal rang in a nearby alleyway, she leaned in. “Wonder if they need a hand,” she murmured and he laughed lightly—from the corner of her eye she glimpsed the twist of his lips. “Tasted blood and you want more. Even on that ankle of yours.”

“Got an extra?” She asked, giving the blade at his hip a cursory nudge. “As if you needed it,” He replied. Her eyes settled on the ironic twist of his lips.

“I want to get better in close quarters,” she muttered, frustration evident. It was never enough.

“You will,” he said, drawing her closer to his side. She could feel his hand twitch ever so slightly. Absently her fingers traced circles into his. 

The walk was disappointingly short.

The very moment they were indoors at Duliae’s estate, it hit her: bone-deep aches, exhaustion, the shooting pain of her ankle with every step. Lena worked to keep her face a mask, but the mere angle of Laceaga’s brow was worth a myriad of words. 

They exchanged a few words with the Onyx Chandler, whose excitement at their victory eclipsed even her own. In truth, she couldn’t be bothered to keep pace with the conversation. Her eyes slid to the walls as she stood, before inevitably she stalked toward the hallway to collapse once and for all into bed.

“You need a bath,” he said, suddenly at her elbow. Lena turned, digging into her remaining strength. “Stink, do I?” She was all teeth and canines. He rolled his eyes. “Let me take care of you,” he said.

“The ankle’s fine—“ and yet it was too late; she found herself swept into his arms. “I can **walk** ,”she hissed, pointedly ignoring her pulse. But he could hear it too and his sensuous mouth warped into a grin. “Stop complaining,” he whispered.

Down the stair into the washrooms, there were veritable grottos cleaved from the rock. The natural expanse began a set of unisex bathing pools before narrowing to a hall with rooms and amenities. The Chandler spared no expense, whether for spectacle or hygiene. But much to her chagrin, they made their way to one of the private chambers, past the entry where one could simply bathe in their smalls. Lena didn’t know whether to be irritated or impressed.

“Going to wash me, wolf?” She said as he nudged the door closed behind them. The moment however those words fell, she could not call them back. Laceaga chuckled darkly and she shifted her hips. “Unless you’d rather I wait upstairs,” he said.

“No,” she replied, perhaps too fast for her own liking. “Stay.”

Laughing, he placed her down on the bench settling beside her. For a moment she gazed at her hands, clenching and unclenching her fingers. As he worked off his boots, he said: “unless you want me to undress you too.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” She challenged, finally gazing at him direct. His golden eyes were beds of alchemical fire within the shadow of his brow. “What do you think?” Laceaga breathed and every inch of him was burning, coiled and ready to spring.

“Alright,” she said, unwilling to ease up. This was the man she wanted; she would shy from no challenge, least of all issued by him. Her blood was singing, suddenly alight with the possibility of feeling him in spaces more intimate than she’d been hopeful to dream. Their lives at any moment could’ve been over.

They had been close; too close, in the cabin before their return. She would not let anything, fate or otherwise, play her for a fool again.

With more restraint than she thought possible from him, he shifted her into his lap. Slowly, his hands began to glide over the expanse of her shoulders and arms, before unceremoniously tearing the nightclothes down the back. The sound of the fabric ripping from behind her caused her to sigh through clenched teeth, rolling her hips against the upper thigh she straddled.

His lips closed around her nape, then trailed to below her ear. “You like that?” He whispered, chuckling. The feeling of his breath tracing patterns into her skin caused her to moan outright. She ground against his leg, bracing her hands against his knee. 

“Lena,” he said. She swooned, from blood loss and exhaustion and pleasure, at the sound of her name falling from his lips. Then suddenly the air was cool as the ruined fabric fell to gather at her hips.

“Here. Up.” Frowning, she leaned from his leg just long enough for him the rest to drop to her ankles. With a long arm, he reached to turn the lever at the tub. 

“Hmph,” she pouted, bereft for a few moments before he pulled her back. The round of rushing water dulled the echo in the room. “You’re loud,” he remarked and she heard the smirk without needing to see it. “Not that I mind,” he said.

She ground impatiently against him again and this time, it was her breastband that ripped. She gasped and he laughed against her shoulder. “Don’t be too surprised,” he whispered, slowly as his hands shifted to her waist, exploring the secret scars that adorned it from the countless accidents she’d had over the years.

For a moment he stilled. A finger traced the angry pink line under her right rib. “Fell onto rocks as a child,” she supplied. The wordless noise he made was oddly tender. As he continued his exploration, there were countless more—small and large, some half-healed and others at odd angles. Whenever he paused, she gave some explanation, even if it were as simple as “the fence,” or “fell out of a tree,” or even “I don’t remember.” That unexpected intimacy went on until her eyes grew hot.

Then suddenly, he was shifting her off his lap.

“What?” She said, sharper than intended. “The bath,” he replied seemingly undeterred, unbuckling his leather straps. “Oh,” she said, suddenly hyperaware of the week of dirt and stench. Flushed, she pulled down her small clothes and unceremoniously waded into the water.

She did stink. She could even smell it, now. As ever, her emotions ran through the sharp filter of her irritation. “You don’t have to stay,” she remarked (as coldly as she was able) reaching for soaps and perfumed lotions with indifference.

He didn’t reply. Finally she hazarded a look to find him down to his smallclothes, lingering at the edge of the bath. Her eyes blew open. She couldn’t help the way her stomach flipped. His broad shoulders were taut and corded with muscle. The shadows painted delicious values into his bloodless skin. He towered over her, dark hair fanning out over his face, marked by those three deep scars. Her eyes wandered toward the tent against the fabric there and he smiled.

“You sure?” He asked, leering through his lashes. Lena sank deeper into the water, feeling the soap slip into the tub. 

Without the least bit of self-consciousness, he slid his briefs down leaving his cock to stand at attention. She bit her lip and turned away, every part of her body on fire. The sound and feel of the water shifting caused a breath to hitch in her throat and all at once his hands were on her, resuming through course over her abdomen.

“Ah,” she breathed, trying not to flush and failing. “I can wash myself,” she quipped, wholly unconvinced.

“Alright,” he said and released her. Her brow furrowed and she turned toward him in time to see his form moving to the other side of the bath.

Increasingly annoyed, she bent to grab the soap now melting into the warm waters of the tub. It slipped a few times in her hands before she managed to get a hold of it. By the time she managed to run it over her skin, her eyes involuntarily fell on the man just watching her, sprawled out with arms over the side of the tub. He gazed at her with a blazing expression, all the more amused when she huffed and turned away to scrub at her skin.

“Sexy,” he said. “Especially when you do that.”

“Do what?” She replied, half-flustered. “That,” he replied with a self-satisfied huff. “When you insist on standing on your own.”

“I didn’t need to be carried,” she retorted, massaging circles onto her skin. His eyes were glued to the way the water spilled over her breasts. 

“You’re right,” he said. “You stank.”

With all her might she hurled the soap at his head, causing it to fall apart against the wall. Laceaga laughed in earnest, something she’d not heard from him ever before. “You missed,” he remarked, grinning.

“Fuck off,” she snarled, forgetting herself. She stalked toward him and he met her, pulling her in for a bruising kiss. All her irritation melted away with a moan against his lips as she felt his length trailing the skin of her thigh. 

“Freed from prison, finished a coup and still with enough energy to shout and and throw soap,” he whispered huskily against her skin. The feel of his mouth at her ear had her falling. “I thought I stank,” she murmured, the fight in her dying. “I don’t care,” he replied, palming her breasts at last. Fire blazed down to her core as his fingers brushed over her blush-pink nipples, rolling them between his fingers.

“Fuck,” she gasped and his fingers trailed south, lower until the brushed the outer limits of her hip.

“Tell me what you want, Lena.” He said.

“Touch me,” she croaked, desperate for his hand to find her center. He chuckled darkly. “Alright.”

She complied as he again turned her around, pulling her back to the end of the tub. Her heart was gave another wet thud as his cock rested between her thighs for just a moment, before he shifted it away. “Hey,” she pouted. That way, until she felt his fingers in her hair.

“You said touch you,” he replied, again with the sound of that infuriating smirk in his voice. Gently, he began to lather the shampoo into her hair and despite her excitement, the feeling of his tender hands at they worked at her scalp caused her to melt away. She’d never been washed, let alone touched by any person. The thought of Laceaga of all people caring for her made her heart feel light.

At each of her blissful sighs, she felt his length twitch against her side. He washed and rinsed hair, running his fingers through it one last time before massaging a handful of the wasted soap against her body, over her shoulders, her breasts and down her thighs.

Her breath hitched: his hands were everywhere, kneading circles into her ass before dragging his nails along the sensitive skin below. Her patience for his teasing wore thin; it was then the thought occurred. Experimentally, she leaned over to touch him in turn, running her hands first along his arms then further south into the waters until she found the head of his leaking cock.

He groaned, his motions stilled; the mere sound cause her to clench in desire. He was hard as stone but velvet soft to the touch, even buffered by the water. The size struck her as alarming, but by then she was far too gone to care. Lena gave him an experimental stroke and this time, his hand slipped greedily between her legs, tracing her core until he began to rub aching circles into her swollen need.

The feeling of his touch on her, the expert way he pulled pleasure from her core set them both to music as she gripped more firmly, testing the limits of what he would enjoy. She was slick and throbbing, all the blood rushed to that single point between her legs. His mouth was at her ear, tracing his tongue along the shell before sweeping lightly onto her neck and she let out a piteous whine.

“Let’s see who hears you,” he breathed, slipping a long calloused finger into her flooding heat. She clenched around him and tossed her head back onto his shoulder, noises spilling from basin of her throat. It was at once perfect and yet not enough and she ground against him desperate for more. 

“Tell me what you want,” Laceaga said. “I—“ she started, yet just as she began, he sank in a second finger. She was in no position in make demands as he began to alternate curling his fingers inside.

“The night we were in that cabin,” he growled, “I wanted to milk your sex with my tongue and fuck you into the mattress,” Lena dug her fingers into whatever she could hold onto, the grip on his cock lost somewhere along the way. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to fill that beautiful mouth? How many times I’ve imagined slamming you onto my cock and riding you until you screamed?” The tub shifted—water spilled onto the floor. His other hand slipped fingers into her mouth and her moans vibrated against them.

“Bewan,” he hissed, seeming just as embroiled in his own desire. “Not here,” he said, withdrawing his hands for just long enough to pull her roughly from the tub.

“Why not?!” She hissed as they stepped soaking onto the floor. “Doesn’t feel the same,” he replied, seeming unconcerned by the sudden drop in temperature. Instead, he pulled her back onto his lap at the bench where they’d initially began.

She cried out as he dove back in with two fingers, pain and pleasure congealing in a lusty fog. His cock flexed between his legs and incensed she reached for it, eager to return the pleasure she was receiving. “Tighter,” he instructed, adjusting her grip with his other hand and showing her just how to stroke him, twisting her fingers just around the head as she moved. The moment he let go she was rewarded, but her focus quickly fell apart. His free hand drifted to circle her clit as he continued to oscillate his fingers inside her.

Something hot began building at her core—a feeling she’d come to know by now. Lena growled and whimpered, her face warped in a pleading grimace as she rode his hand. “I want to feel you fall apart,” he whispered, “just for me rabbit.”

The sound of her epithet used in such a context had her winded. “Show me how eager to get fucked you really are,” and those words were enough—the orgasm hit her like a massive tidal wall and she tipped her head back to cry out his name, her walls fluttering around him when suddenly she was shifted up, her hips angled and then—

Right at the pinnacle of her orgasm he sank hilt deep. Lena’s vision went white. Her voice was halfway between a moan and a shriek as she rode her orgasm out on his cock. Laceaga pistoned in time with her fluttering walls. His hands gripped the backs of her thighs with crushing force, but all she could focus on was the wildfire coursing through her brain. Laceaga murmured something along the lines of _”fuck yeah”,_ as he began to thrust into her, grunting and groaning as she coated him in slick, clenched like a vice.

“Just like a,” _snap,_ “rabbit,” he panted, smacking wetly against her cunt. Her mind went blank with pleasure. Whatever sounds she’d been making were otherwise lost; there was no other sense except their bodies, their sounds and the oversensitivity of her filled core as he drove her spiralling headlong toward another orgasm—only this time it came not from the gem between her legs from somewhere deep within.

“Oh fuck, Laceaga, fuck,” she said aloud this time. He moved one hand from beneath her thigh to knead and pinch at her breast, panting at her ear. “Tell them who is making you moan like this,” he said, his voice nearly unrecognisable. _“Beg.”_

“Laceaga, **please,** ” she shouted at the top of her lungs, feeling his momentum slow for just a moment before he carried through. He rolled a nipple between his finger and thumb. It was too much and not enough, never enough—she was meeting him in kind, rolling her hips against his, pulling him in so deep she could feel him hitting a wall inside of her.

His hand moved to her clit as he whispered. “Lena,” and this one sound—just the mere sound of her name—undid her.

“Lacey!” She cried, hoarse and swallowed by the roar in her ears as her entire body shuddered, flooding her with blessed relief. Lena spasmed. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt. It was engulfing, from her midsection to the tips of her toes. He grimaced her name leaning against the wall to continue riding her through her second orgasm. _And kept going._

“Aaah, aah, _fuck!_ ” She cried and squirmed, the sensitivity overwhelming her as he relentlessly circled her now tender clit. “Laceaga, please!”

“Do you want me to stop?” He breathed through clenched teeth. Yet she needed to feel him release, needed to hear the sound as he came. “How,” she panted, “are you still going?”

“Here,” he grunted, lifting her up from his lap and onto the floor. He caught her as her legs immediately gave out. “Pushed you too hard,” he sighed, lips pressed into her hair. Suddenly, the tenderness was back. Lena struggled to stand, even in his arms.

“We can stop,” he whispered, suddenly concerned. “No,” she pleaded, squirming to face him as they stood. The two gazed into one another, even as her vision swam. His eyes were soft despite the igon now wrecked into the tips of his cheeks and the crease of his eyelids. “I love you,” she said, delirious enough to say whatever she felt—and his eyes blew wider for just a moment. She leaned forward to crash into his chest.

“You can barely stand,” he said and for the very first time (if she’d even really heard it) she detected a hint of guilt in his voice. “No, no,” she murmured, unrelenting. “I want you to feel it too,” she said.

She lifted her eyes to look at him and they were filled with something she didn’t recognise. So soft, it scarcely even looked like him. “Mysaora’a,” he said, brushing away the few waterlogged strands that clung to her face.

“Lay me down,” she whispered, “I want to feel you again.” 

He hesitated a moment but slowly laid her horizontally on the bench. His hands were gentle as he captured her lips, massaging along her aching limbs before parting her thighs. “I love you,” she said again and this time his entire body seemed to react, shoulders tensing and his eyes lidding shut.

“What you do to me,” he trailed. It was so different, so unlike the sides she’d seen before. “No man should be this weak.”

“Not weak,” she said, grasping at threads of her energy. “Stronger.”

He leaned to press his forehead to hers. For a long moment he was still, as if lost somewhere in the dark expanse of her pupils. Then slowly, he moved his length and slid into her, this time achingly tender.

“I lose myself inside of you,” he whispered and she sighed, wrapping her arms around his muscular back. She was sore everywhere, even between her legs. Every last muscle burned, her consciousness was quickly fading and yet still the warmth of his skin and the feel of him buried in her was enough. The two of them rocked, his hands sliding up and down her sides, trailing lazily along her skin and tracing lines into the scars at her abdomen. Were they truly so different as she did the same?

He tensed and she chuckled—giddy perhaps from the total exhaustion. “Give yourself to me,” she whispered and he choked back a groan. Lena rubbed light circles into his shoulders.

“Yes,” he gasped and suddenly he movements were sharper, breathing ragged. “Bewan’ _na_ Lena, I’m,”

“Come for me Laceaga,” she breathed and he released, flooding her with his heat. Every spasm, every choking gasp was a different kind of ecstasy. She pushed back on his arms to watch his face contort as she fired inside her, allowing her every last bit of vulnerability as his lips closed around her name.

They stilled. The bath was silent save for their breathing. Lena felt her eyes flutter closed. Then spinning slightly, the word went black.

That was the last she remembered.

When next she awoke, the light slanting in through the window seemed intent to strike her directly in the eye. “Fucking hell,” she groused, throwing the pillow over her head. Her body felt as if she’d been slammed through a wall, thrown down a mountain, placed into a wheelbarrow and flung into the sea.

“Breakfast. Can’t chew your food through a pillow, rabbit.”

“Bewan your breakfast, faelgon’der.” She groused. The sound of vulgarity upon vulgarity earned a chuckle. Slowly the pillow lifted to reveal Laceaga’s beautiful face, so unlike the last time she’d seen it, leering from above.

“Were you going to sleep all day or were you actually interested in improving?”

Lena wore a sour expression. “Oh for the love of the heart,” she said, throwing the pillow off her face and onto the bed. “Go away, Laceaga.” 

“Rabbits really do nest,” he murmured, smoothing the chaos of her hair. “Die,” she muttered, throwing her legs over the side. It seemed to only occur to her then. “Wait-how did I get here?”

“Carried you.” He said. “Yeah well,” she replied. “Next time just leave me to perish.”

He kissed the top of her hair she softened, despite her frown. This (similar to those that followed) the first real day of their life, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine that during the shouting and moaning and splashing, somewhere Duliae was like:
> 
> “One of them is going to owe me for damages.”


End file.
